Pilot Tide, Chapter 1

Hello friends and wayfaring readers – I know I’ve been absent for a long while. (I won’t take offense if you didn’t notice). The busyness of life has kept me from writing, and I keep meaning to return to somewhat-regular blogging, i.e. at least once a month for me. To ease into it, I pulled up this novella I wrote over a year ago for a fairytale retelling contest – realistically, it would just gather dust on my hard drive, so I may as well share it here. If you’ve been reading too much of the news and it’s getting to you, perhaps a good dose of fiction will be a reprieve.

I will update with a new chapter regularly since the whole thing exists already. And I won’t give too much of a preface, since you already know it’s a fairytale retelling. I did write a query letter for this at one point (back when I was feeling more ambitious), so here’s my one-line summary (that probably oversells this story): “Pilot Tide” is “Snow White” dressed up in “Star Wars” attire, in a competition reminiscent of “The Hunger Games.”

Now lower your expectations. Obviously, this isn’t Shakespeare or Dostoyevksy. Please read for fun. Feedback is welcome, of course!

Chapter 1

The Octagon crew discovered the Micanopy Cluster in Galactic Year 2420. The skill and audacity of the explorers formed the foundational values of our culture: strength, honor, and sheer nerve. Every five years, the Flight Academy of Micanopy celebrates the embodiment of these ideals in Pilot Tide.

Three competitors round out the roster for the twenty-sixth Tide. Returning champion Jules will face two wild card challengers: Suri, the daughter of renowned pilot Mona, and Alai, an unknown from the Renova Cluster. Experts claim this will be the most unpredictable Tide in years, deviating from the usual pattern of well-known, high profile pilots.

– The Micanopy Mirror, Galactic Date 2730.94

Suri punched the thrusters and banked hard to starboard. The One-Wing was a fickle beast when it came to sharp maneuvers during acceleration, but she felt it was a worthwhile bargain given the price and otherwise decent design. The new model generated contentious debate in the pilot community when it was released. The asymmetry of the ship caused it to fly at a slight angle—a quality that some considered inventive, and others decried as a fatal flaw.

She did not mind the imbalance. Rather, since Papa always said she had a tilted view of the world, she had remarked that the designers custom-built the One-Wing for her. He did not appreciate the humor of it, however, and questioned the sanity of purchasing a ship that could not even fly parallel to the ground.

She patted the dashboard and keyed in her home coordinates. Dusk was fast fading, and a swath of stars swept across her viewport. Out to her left, Micanopy Minor glowed with a crimson and burgundy haze around it. The Cluster’s trio of moons hung more distantly in the sky.

Though Micanopy Major, Suri’s home world, was the nexus of innovation, politics, and galactic events, she felt as far from the bustle of life as if she lived on the fringe of the Cluster.

But that was going to change. She had trained and plotted and planned for this to be the year she reversed her and Papa’s fortunes.

Suri felt a sharp tug in her chest as their old farmhouse came into sight. Both fond and bitter emotions swelled up like a brief, violent storm inside her, swirling, then subsiding into a dull ache.

“Papa, I’m home.” She braced herself as she stepped inside.

Silence greeted her, but she heard the pitter patter of footsteps in the kitchen. As she rounded into the dining area, Papa came to meet her, a large mixing bowl and spatula in hand. Her eyes immediately went to his face, which already bore lines from age, hard labor, and grief. Today, they appeared deepened by anguish.

His gaze slid over her, and for the first time, Suri felt ashamed standing in her flight suit. Given the circumstances, would he interpret it as calculated defiance?

“You were flying.” His tone was calm but brittle.

“Yes.”

“Are you good?”

Suri raised her shoulders. ” If you came to watch,” she hesitated, working to keep her voice neutral, “you could decide for yourself. But Shell and Chip think I am.”

“So does the Flight Academy, apparently.”

“Papa…”

He slammed the bowl onto the table, some of the golden batter spilling over the edge. Suri flinched, but did not drop her gaze.

“I found out from The Mirror, Suri.” He spoke quietly, though his dark eyes, the same as hers, burned.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know how to tell you. I was afraid you would react…” Like this. She trailed off, leaving the final words unspoken.

He sighed. “I know what it’s like when you’re young. I don’t want you to be led by passions that will come and go.”

“I promise it’s not a phase. I love to fly. And I want to use it to help us.” The words tumbled out like a rapid stream of laser fire, rehearsed but earnest.

Suri did not know if Papa also became conscious of his clothes in that moment, but she felt a heightened awareness of each oil stain, each black smudge. He had not changed after work, and she could still smell the metal ore and factory fumes on him.

His expression softened slightly. “We don’t need help. I can put you through university, and you can work in the Metropolis. Follow any career.”

“This is the career I want.”

“We agreed, no Flight Academy.”

“And I didn’t go. I learned and trained on my own here.” Suri’s voice took on a pleading note. “I kept up my marks in school. I’m no longer a child, Papa. I decided to apply for this long ago.”

“Pilot Tide is suicide.”

“Only if you’re bad at flying.” She grimaced, hearing the brashness Papa always rebuked. Shell and Chip might appreciate her flippant assessment, but her father would not.

She imagined a fleeting twinkle in Papa’s eye, but his somber countenance quickly buried it.

“Sit.” He motioned to their old, cherry-wood dining table.

Suri shuffled to a chair. She watched him pick up the mixing bowl and return to the kitchen, pulling the oven open. When he came out, he sat across from her, folding his hands neatly on the table.

“I was one of the best mechanics in the Metropolis. You love to fly ships, I loved to fix them. I could fix anything.”

He wore a faraway look, caught in the vortex of some long-gone memory. Suri’s gut tightened. Papa never spoke of this past, of the time before they moved to Nimrim.

“That’s how I met Mona. She brought her ship in for fixing. An old Stingray model.”

“The best ship there is,” Suri murmured. She loved watching the sleek, thin ships in flight, though she knew her budget would have to triple before she could ever call a Stingray her own.

“It suited her.” Admiration bled into his voice.

Suri bit her lip. “I know you’re worried…”

He seemed to resurface in the present, his gaze lucid and hard.

“Your mother was the famous one in the pair of us, but I could easily have kept us in the Metropolis after—” he broke off. “We didn’t move out here because we couldn’t afford the city anymore.”

“I didn’t mean that,” she said. “I know you’re excellent.” Papa tinkered with all kinds of unusual machinery. He earned a reputation in the community as the one to call for everything from broken appliances to faulty software.

He gave her a sad smile. “It’s not my ego that hurts. I took up an old factory job because my skills are not in demand here. How many top-level ships even pass through our town?” He gestured at the window. The flat, rocky earth stretched to the dark horizon, unobstructed by spires or city lights. “What I meant was, I moved us to Nimrim because I was afraid of this. I was afraid for you.”

His words sunk into her like claws, slowly digging deeper and drawing blood. She felt his pain morph into her pain, his fear become her fear.

“I was afraid you would be your mother’s daughter.”

Tears stung her eyes and she quashed a sob mercilessly in the bottom of her throat.

“But,” he continued slowly, “I was surprised. When I saw The Mirror’s report, I also felt…proud.”

Her head jerked up and she met his gaze, jarred out of her sorrow.

“You have her resilience. Her talent. I hid myself from this reality, so I never went to watch you fly. But I’m from the Metropolis, and I’ve seen enough Pilot Tides to know. You must fly like an ewha to get accepted.”

An ewha—the eagle-like king of the skies—was native to Micanopy, and Suri remembered seeing one in her childhood. Their feathered wings unfurled like tapestry in the air. They flew with an uncommon grace given their size, and pilots learned to study them, mimicking their flight behavior with mechanical controls. It was the highest compliment to liken a pilot to one of their kind.

A timer in the kitchen beeped, breaking into the surreal moment. Papa rose from his seat, leaving Suri in shock. She felt as if her heart just went through ten cartwheels in a One-Wing.

He returned with a golden cake, fashioned in the shape of a Stingray. A warm, nutty aroma filled the room.

“Oh!” Suri exclaimed. It was a planet-wide tradition to celebrate each Pilot Tide with cinnacoa cake, made from Micanopy’s signature sweet-peppery spice.

Papa smiled ruefully at her. “Mona would be proud. We are both proud of you.”

He produced a knife and cut into the cake. A sense of regret flitted through Suri as she watched the impeccably designed Stingray split in two. She scooped a piece onto a small plate for herself, and offered the rest to Papa.

“Happy Tide.” He lifted his slice as a toast. “Fly straight.”

Suri grinned, unable to resist, as profound happiness welled up inside her. “I can’t. I have a One-Wing, remember?”

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About the Author

Hi! I'm Dana. I'm not a writer by profession, but I love beautiful words and good stories. This is my small space for all things creative. Watch out for ink spills and brainstorms. Join me on this adventure as we explore life and literature. Here's to the pursuit of truth and making of art!